


Captured

by PocketAnon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Outlaw Queen - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9419567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketAnon/pseuds/PocketAnon
Summary: Killian Jones is a promising student who enters law school with no family left and a hunger for vengeance.  But three years under the guidance of the right mentors helps him find hope and a new purpose in more ways than one.  (Captain Swan, Outlaw Queen, photographer AU, lawyer AU.  Romance/Fluff.  Rated G.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sunday, Oncers! Here's my submission for CS January Joy, a oneshot based off the following prompt:  
> "You’re the photographer my friends used for their engagement, wedding, and kids. Now I’m graduating, and they’ve called you to document the happy occasion."
> 
> I don't generally write off prompts, and the fic below is a little different than what you might first expect based on the prompt above, but I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to @katie-dub for organizing CS January Joy and helping me select this prompt in the first place. It's been an emotionally-charged week for me as an American, but writing certain parts of this fic was definitely therapeutic. Happy reading! Comments, as always, are welcome!

He first sees her at a wedding. It’s a predictably classy, predictably ritzy affair. His law school professor-slash-mentor-slash-boss, Robin Locksley, and Robin’s legal partner-turned-fiancé, Regina, get married a year after Killian lands a highly sought-after summer internship at their prestigious firm. 

He’s busted his ass for the firm, worked twelve-hour days, taken advantage of his nearly non-existent social life to throw in even more hours overtime, gone on countless runs for coffee and take-out, and dozed off over stacks of legal briefs at 2 AM more than once, but it’s paid off. The partners have been impressed by his resourcefulness and doggedness and personal charm. Even the notoriously exacting Regina, in one of her rare complimentary moods, once declared him surprisingly good at research. But Killian realizes, as he dutifully escorts yet another of Boston’s political royalty down the groom's side of the grand cathedral and tries not to stare at the woman across the nave, that _this_ , his last-minute recruitment as an usher when one of Robin’s other men fell ill, might just be the biggest reward for all that hard work. Because the woman? The wedding photographer? Bloody hell, she’s beautiful.

Her long blonde hair is the color of morning sunshine and held out of her face with a braid that arcs over her temple and disappears beneath the loose waves that cascade to the middle of her back. Even in the looming shadows that intersperse the halos of daylight piercing the stained glass, he can make out her delicate features, long lashes, and a becoming flush overlying her creamy complexion. Her figure is graceful, almost willowy, in a petal pink dress with flowing sleeves and a tastefully plunging neckline and her expression largely business-like as she repeatedly fiddles with her camera and aims her lens experimentally toward the altar from various locations in order to find just the right angles. Every so often, however, she has to sidestep the bride’s guests as they’re led to their seats, and she smiles demurely, a small upturn of her lips that manages to light up half of the church. And when the guests she’s dodging are a small pair of excited children in tiny dress clothes with their harried-looking parents in tow, the amused glow of her face and the way her eyes crinkle at the corners is pure radiance.

Killian eventually finds himself on her side of the church with some of the bride’s guests on his arm, though some of Regina’s slightly older, female friends don’t actually take his elbow so much as drape themselves all over him while he escorts them down the aisle. One such woman, a gaunt-looking specter with a striking half-white, half-black dye job and a blood red smirk, seems particularly enamored with him, but the discomfort is a cross he’s more than willing to bear when they pass the photographer and he shoots her a comically pained expression that causes her to erupt in silent laughter, her mossy green eyes dancing above the hand she holds up to hide her smile.

She vanishes shortly after that, presumably to go take pictures of the bridal party making their final preparations, and Killian preoccupies himself with scanning for a glimpse of her return. It isn’t until the guests are all seated and the ceremony is minutes away that he finds her again, accompanying the bridal party as they emerge and line up for the processional in a hallway just off the main vestibule. 

Regina looks stunning in an off-the-shoulder white gown he has no doubt comes from some exclusive boutique. The bodice shimmers with hand-sewn crystals, and intricate lace detailing extends all the way down the skirt that hugs her curves and flares just below her hips. The dark beauty Robin refers to her as his queen looks every bit the title today, especially surrounded by a small court of bridesmaids in deep plum gowns, the lot of them lovely enough for a magazine spread as they whisper animatedly to one another and do their last-minute preening. Nevertheless, Killian finds his eyes drawn repeatedly to the blonde who stands in the corner as inconspicuously as she can while capturing these precious moments with her camera, her motions fluid and practiced as one hand manually focuses her lens and the other triggers the shutter over and over again in a coordinated flurry of minute but mesmerizing movements.

Her lens finds him standing with the other ushers and catches him watching her, and she pauses, pulling back from her viewfinder in order to blink at him over the top of her camera with those big gorgeous eyes, a blush creeping across her face before she hastily retreats back behind her equipment. They share barely a second of eye contact, but Killian can feel his pulse quicken, and he swallows and scratches behind his ear, flashing her a bashful smile before looking away. He’s familiar with his effect on women and uses his charms to his advantage frequently, but under her gaze he suddenly feels uncharacteristically shy and much more self-conscious about the stump where his left hand used to be than usual. Perhaps it’s the scrutiny of her lens, but he suspects it has more to do with the fact that there’s something about this woman that makes him want to watch her work all day.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch, as is to be expected for any enterprise paid for and overseen by Regina Mills, and Killian observes the joyous proceedings feeling genuinely happy for the couple. In addition to being incredibly grateful to Robin Locksley for taking him under his wing and giving him the chance to prove his mettle in one of the most highly-respected law firms on the Eastern seaboard, Killian actually likes the British ex pat immensely as a person. For all his sharp legal acumen and storied courtroom victories, the man is the epitome of decency and generosity, the sort of lawyer unafraid to take on corrupt corporations and ne’er-do-wells on behalf of charities or the little guy. And Regina, well, Regina may have a sharp tongue and be so demanding that the interns occasionally refer to her in hushed tones as the _Evil_ Queen, but she also has a softer side, and even a blind man could see how happy she makes Robin. Killian has never seen his mentor look more jubilant as the forty year-old stands at the altar, exceedingly debonair in an immaculate tuxedo, his brown hair highlighted with a few distinguished strands of gray and his face split into an enormous grin.

It’s a fairytale wedding, simultaneously grandiose and yet made intimate by the obvious affection between the bride and groom. The music is uplifting and ethereal, the bishop’s homily funny and poignant, and the wedding party, which includes Robin’s young son from his first marriage as ring bearer, picture perfect. And as the elated pair say their vows and exchange rings, the clicks of a camera echoing softly in the hallowed space make Killian’s smile a little wider.

 

* * *

 

The wedding reception is held in a lavish Baroque ballroom done in cream and crystal and gold gilt, and the room is buzzing with guests, the din rivaling the volume of the live brass band. The food is exquisite, the champagne like drinkable stars, and the Killian definitely approves of the tumbler of top shelf rum he appropriates from the open bar. 

He divides his attention between hobnobbing with associates from the firm, ducking the handsy cougars, and trying to keep tabs on the photographer. She’s easy enough to spot during the traditional events – the toasts, the cake cutting, the bouquet toss, and the formal dances – hovering near the head table and the dance floor, her skirts fluttering around her shapely calves as she flits about on strappy metallic heels to get her shots.

Shortly after the dancing really gets underway, however, Killian loses her again. He cranes his neck, trying to spot her blonde head, but between the constantly moving crowd and the lights which have been lowered for dancing, he struggles to locate her, and his heart falls as the minutes tick by. Half an hour without eyes on her, his heaves a resigned sigh, wondering if perhaps she’s gone for the evening and chastising himself for missing his opportunity to talk to her.

“There you are, darling,” a voice purrs from behind him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. _Bollocks._ Killian plasters on a polite smile and turns to see Regina’s black-and-white-haired friend standing behind him, her spindly arms crossed and a glass of champagne clutched in one gloved hand as she stands with her weight on one hip and surveys him with a predatory leer. 

“Oh hello,” he says. “Ma’am.”

Sadly, she looks more amused than affronted by his greeting. “Now, now, no need for formalities,” she chuckles with a little wave of her champagne flute. “We’re all friends here.” She gestures toward the dance floor. “It’s a shame to see such a handsome man hanging back from such a delightful party. Come dance with me.” She tips her head downward, her blue eyes raking over him, and curls the index finger of her free hand.

A flash above his head catches his attention, the intermittent reflection of light off a lens shining like a flickering star, and Killian looks upward, his heart leaping when he sees Emma standing on a balcony, presumably taking wide shots of the party. _Sweet saving grace._ His face blossoms into a genuine smile, and he glances back to Regina’s friend. “A tempting proposition,” he tells her. “But something else requires my attention rather urgently. Apologies. Excuse me.” 

With a hurried bow, he spins on his toe before the woman has a chance to voice her indignance and sets off immediately. A member of the wait-staff points him toward a set of doors and the staircase beyond, and he strides out of the room at a clip just short of a trot.

His heart begins to thunder in his chest as he takes the stairs, and he fiddles absently with his left shirt cuff, his mind racing to figure out the right opening line. He huffs, silently rebuking himself. He’s training to be a lawyer for heaven’s sake, a man paid to think fast on his feet, a bullshit artist of the highest order, and here he is unsure what he can say to a pretty girl that won’t make him sound like an imbecile.

Her back is to him when he wanders on to the balcony. As focused as she appears to be on her work, the subtle sound of his footsteps causes her to raise her head suddenly and turn to look at him over her shoulder. Surprise flashes over her features before her lips curl into a little smile that makes his stomach flop. “Hi.”

He manages a grin, shoving his hand and stump into the pockets of his tuxedo and meandering forward. “Hello.” _Good start, Jones. Good start._ He tears his eyes off her and tips his chin toward the balcony. “Quite a nice place to take photos.”

“Uh, yeah.” She nods amiably and follows his gaze down below, chuckling. “This whole wedding is kind of a photographer’s dream. Everything about it is beautiful.”

Killian hums in agreement, appreciating the flawless lines of her profile as he settles himself next to her at the balcony rail. “Yes, well,” he says, “Regina would have it no other way.”

She laughs, and the sound is music to his ears. “Right.” She glances at him with an arched eyebrow. “I take it you know her well?”

“Aye.” His shoulders start to relax as he settles into the rhythm of conversation. “I’m an intern at her law firm. Robin is one of my professors.” He extends his hand. “Killian Jones.”

He thinks he sees her cheeks darken a shade as she acquiesces to shake, her hand soft and warm in his. “Emma Swan.”

 _Lord, even her name is perfect._ He smiles. “Pleasure.”

She releases him, flushing prettily and turning to aim her camera back over the balcony. “So tell me, Killian Jones,” she says, eye in her viewfinder, “Why do you want to be a lawyer?”

“Well, brain surgeon was a bit out of the question,” he quips, raising his left arm and giving it a wave.

Emma glances at him, and her lashes brush her cheeks as she gives a little laugh. If she’s fazed by his lack of a hand, she doesn’t show it before she resumes shooting.

Killian licks his lips, bowing his head and debating whether he should risk saying more. “Seemed like a good way to go after people who are corrupt and powerful and try to hold them accountable for their crimes,” he tells her at last.

Her eyebrows lift as she continues to work. “A hero.”

He snorts. “I’m no hero, lass.”

She pauses. “No?” she asks.

“It certainly doesn’t feel that way.” He shrugs. 

Emma lowers her camera again and narrows her eyes slightly at him, and for a second it feels as though she can see through him, see his secrets, see the resentment he harbors toward the corporation that failed to disclose the toxicity of the chemicals that killed his brother. For a second, he gets the sense those amazing gray-green eyes are reading his soul. Miraculously, whatever she sees does not seem to merit her disapproval. Emma’s expression softens, and she hums thoughtfully. She allows her camera to hang from the strap around her neck and detaches the lens, tucking it away in the leather bag slung over her shoulder. “Well, if you’re not a hero, then what are you?”

He chuckles and scratches the back of his head, putting on his most charming grin. “Dashing rapscallion?”

This earns him another lovely laugh. “I could buy that,” she admits with an amused smirk.

He hazards a small step forward, noting the way her eyes widen with a small swell of pleasure. “Not to seem too forward, love, but would you allow me to buy something as well?” he asks hopefully. “A drink? Or dinner?”

“Oh.” Emma’s brow wrinkles, and she looks conflicted before giving him an apologetic smile. “As fun as that sounds, I, um, I can’t,” she answers awkwardly. “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

Disappointment washes over him like a cold shower, but he does his best to maintain a pleasant poker face. “Ah. A shame.” He holds his hand out again, and when she takes it, he lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “It was nice meeting you, Emma Swan,” he says. “If you’re ever in need of not-a-hero…”

“I can come find you?” She grins weakly, and he dares to convince himself she looks a little wistful. 

His wink belies the heaviness of his heart as he takes his leave. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

Killian unbuttons his wool pea coat as he pads along the polished stone floor of the law firm’s main hallway toward Regina’s office on a crisp October afternoon. He flashes a quick smile at Regina’s assistant and holds his hand up in a perfunctory greeting as she waves him on through from behind her desk. 

The thick panel of glass that comprises the door to the corner office vibrates with a thunk when he raps his knuckles against it, and the high-backed leather executive chair behind the desk rotates away from the floor-to-ceiling window behind it to reveal Regina with a sheaf of papers in one hand and a pen in the other, a pair of elegant reading glasses balanced on her nose. She glances up and gestures for him to come, and he enters the austere but stylish black and white office, lifting the flap of the messenger bag he wears across his chest with his stump and reaching in to retrieve a fat file folder. 

“Here’s that child welfare research you requested,” he announces, handing it over. “I think there are some things in there you’ll find useful.”

Her face brightens, and she thumbs through the neat stack of computer print-outs and photocopies, eyeing the colorful Post-it tabs scattered throughout with approval. “You notated everything?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “As always.” His eyes fall upon some new picture frames on the console table behind her desk, and he nods toward them. “Got your wedding photos back, I see.”

She beams and swivels a little to glance at them proudly over her shoulder. “They turned out well, don’t you think? Spectacular.”

Killian makes a noise of agreement, studying a photo of Regina and her bridesmaids consorting in front of an ornately carved limestone wall and realizing that it must be one of the shots Emma captured while he was watching her work just before the start of the processional. The photo is indeed marvelous, beautifully composed with Regina dazzling as the central focal point, his eye drawn to the bold contrast of her dark hair and thick lashes and laughing red lips against her pristine skin, the surrounding purple of the bridesmaids’ dresses adding a vibrant punch of color in an image largely consisting of shades of white. The slightest blur of motion manages to clearly convey the energy and anticipation of the moment. 

Killian takes a minute to appreciate the other photos on the table, each of a similarly precious spot in time, and though he’s already reviewed Emma’s online portfolio and familiarized himself with the quality of her work, his respect for her grows still greater. “Indeed,” he agrees, smiling politely, “Everything about your wedding was brilliant.” 

As they have been since the wedding, thoughts of Emma are accompanied by a pang of melancholy deep in his gut. She’s not the girl who got away considering that he never really had her, but he’s discovered, much to his dismay, that he misses her, despite only having spoken to her for all of five minutes. 

Regina admires her wedding pictures a second longer before turning back to the research file. “Well, thank you for this.”

He lifts an eyebrow at her thank-you. Marriage has indeed made a new woman of Regina Mills, he reflects with amusement, though he knows better than to risk pointing this out. No sense in testing how far her new magnanimity stretches. Killian merely bows his head. “You’re very welcome.”

There’s another reverberating knock on the door, and Regina’s assistant peeks her head in. She glances at Killian and visibly blushes before she clears her throat. “Mrs. Locksley,” she says, “The lieutenant governor’s on line two.”

Regina nods, and the woman ducks back out hastily. Regina waits until the door is solidly shut. “You have an admirer,” she simpers.

Killian glances at the petite redhead through the glass and scratches behind his ear. “A pity.”

His boss cocks her head. “Not your type?”

The image of Emma’s laughing eyes flits through his memory, and he shakes his head, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag absently. “Sadly, no.”

“And what is?” The corner of Regina’s mouth twitches as she reaches for the handset of her phone. 

He throws her a small smile over his shoulder and heads out the door. “Unavailable.”

 

* * *

 

Killian arrives at the law professors’ department offices late in the afternoon in the spring of his final semester, a couple weeks before graduation. April rain is soaking Boston today, and he runs a hand through his damp hair absently as he pads down the familiar path toward Professor Locksley’s office, filled with curiosity as to what awaits him. The text from Robin earlier in the week had been a bit cryptic:

_Have something for you. Care to come by Friday after office hours?_

Killian trusts it won’t be an unpleasant surprise – Robin and Regina revealed their decision to hire him at the firm as a junior associate following graduation over a month ago – but his mind still whirls with the possibilities of what could be in store.

The office door is open, and his mentor sits behind his old oak desk at work on his laptop. The usual neat piles of books and papers cover most of the available surfaces in the wood-paneled room, and a fresh cup of coffee steams on the desk next to Robin’s hand. 

He looks up at Killian’s approach and grins broadly. “Jones,” he says jovially, waving him in. “Come in. Shut the door.”

Killian arches an eyebrow, the worn brass knob cool to the touch as he complies. “What’s up?” He pulls his bag up over his head and lowers himself into one of the chairs across from desk, settling the bag on the floor next to his feet.

Robin beams and shrugs as he leans back in his chair and considers him. “Excited about graduation?”

Killian narrows an eye at the silly question. “Of course.”

“I heard your classmates selected you to give the student address,” Robin comments.

“Oh. Yeah.” He colors and leans forward with a chuckle. “You know they’re mad, the lot of them.”

Robin rumbles happily. “Of course they are. But it was an excellent choice. You’ll do a bang-up job.”

Killian’s chest swells, his smile reaching his ears. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll try.”

“Do you have any guests coming?”

His lips part a moment, the cheer fading out of his expression, and he closes his mouth and gives a rueful shake of his head.

Robin smiles kindly. “Not even friends? A girlfriend?”

Killian grins regretfully, his eyes falling toward the floor. “All my mates are graduating with me,” he says. “And there isn’t… anyone else… at the moment.”

“Ah.” Robin tilts his head back. His expression warms. “Well, that will work nicely then,” he announces, sounding upbeat.

Killian’s brow furrows, and he looks up. “Sir?”

A smile pulls at Robin’s lips. “Regina and I would like to do a little something for you to celebrate your graduation.”

Killian’s expression softens. “You mean other than giving me a job?” he chuckles.

Robin laughs. “Other than that.” He picks up a framed photo of himself, Regina, and his son, Roland, that sits on his desk. It shows the three of them playing in the autumn leaves. It’s an artful upward shot taken from near the ground, the image capturing the trio laughing wildly while loose leaves flutter through the air and the sun shines down upon them through the nearly bare boughs of a great tree. “See this?”

Killian admires the picture. “It’s very nice,” he says with a small nod.

“It’s from the same photographer who did our wedding,” Robin explains. “Talented girl. Regina uses her exclusively for all our family events.”

Killian blinks, thoughts of Emma yet again rushing to the forefront of his mind. He looks back down at the photograph and imagines how she must have lain in the grass with her camera to get this shot, a satisfied smile on her face, stray bits of leaves and grass perhaps embedded in her hair, and the corner of his mouth tugs upward in a bittersweet grin. 

“We want to hire her for your graduation.”

He freezes. His wide eyes slowly rise to take in the professor’s amused expression. “Sorry?”

Robin chuckles. “You’ve worked long and hard for your degree, Killian. You’re graduating at the top of your class and speaking at commencement, and it’s going to be a big day for you, and we thought it would be nice to have some photos from the occasion.” He sits forward and clasps his hands on the desk thoughtfully. “Look,” he says more solemnly, “I hope we’re not overstepping, but it’s usually family members that take pictures at these things, and we know you haven’t any, so we thought perhaps you’d let us see to it if you didn’t have other guests coming.” He smiles kindly. “Except I’ll be tied up on stage with the rest of the faculty, and Regina is rubbish with a camera,” he laughs. “If you let her use one of your guest tickets, Emma will do an amazing job – much better than us or the standard University photographers,” he explains confidently, taking the frame from Killian and setting it back on his desk.

Killian’s heart rises in his throat, and his eyes warm momentarily before he blinks the evidence of his emotion away. He swallows thickly and nods. “I don’t know what to say,” he admits. “You and Regina have done so much…”

Robin smiles and waves it off. “It’s nothing,” he says. “You’re a good man, Killian. You’ve done great work for us, and we know you’re going to having an amazing career. We’re happy to be a part of your success.” He stands and comes around the desk, extending his hand as Killian jumps to his feet. They shake, and Robin slaps his back in a quick one-armed hug. “I trust you’ll allow us to take you out for a celebratory drink after as well?” he says, pulling back, one eyebrow lifted appraisingly.

Killian grins. “Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent.” Robin swipes his phone off the desk and brings up his texting app. “I’ll leave the details up to my lovely wife. You know how she likes to dictate these things.”

Killian laughs knowingly. “Thank you.” He turns toward the door and reaches for the knob.

“Have a good weekend,” Robin tells him cheerfully, thumbs flying as he taps out a message to Regina. “Oh, and Killian?”

Killian pauses and turns. “Yes?”

“Not that it’s of any interest to you,” he says casually, “But Regina tells me Emma’s quite single at present.” He locks his phone and looks up with a sly smirk. 

Killian gapes a moment before schooling his features back to neutral. “I see.” 

Robin folds his arms across his chest, looking quite pleased with himself. “Not much escapes Regina’s notice, you know,” he says proudly, “Not even at her own wedding.” He winks.

"Indeed." Killian’s cheeks grow warm, and he ducks his head with a sheepish smile, pulling the door open.

 

* * *

 

The day of graduation is warm and breezy, and the university campus is swarming with excited students in a mass of fluttering black robes, square black caps visible in every direction and the air thick with chatter and laughter. Killian meets up with Robin and the rest of the law school contingent at one of the university’s ancient gates for the class march at seven thirty. 

His mentor is resplendent in one of the heavy red faculty robes, a black velvet cap angled atop his head, and he greets him heartily with a firm handshake and a welcoming smile. “Ah! There he is. The man of the hour.”

Killian chuckles. “One of many, Sir.”

Robin steps back and turns, bobbing and weaving a bit to see through the crowd until his face lights up, and he cups his hand to his mouth. “Regina!”

Killian follows his gaze, and his heart stutters when his eyes fall on Regina, characteristically sharp in a snug skirt and matching suit coat, conferring with the blonde angel he hasn’t seen in a year but would know anywhere. Emma is just as gorgeous as he remembers, this time dressed in a fitted dark red leather jacket over a knee-length black dress embroidered with colorful flowers at the neckline, her camera bag slung over her torso and her pretty ponytail swaying with every little movement of her head. High heels accentuate the long line of her legs, and Killian’s mouth runs dry when she turns and sees him, her green eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy.

The women approach, and Regina smirks knowingly. “Jones,” she says, “I believe you remember Miss Swan.”

Killian swallows and smiles, bowing his head a touch. “Hard to forget,” he says. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Killian Jones,” Emma drawls teasingly, gripping his outstretched hand. “My not-a-hero.”

He laughs, his cheeks growing a bit ruddy. “The same.”

“Congratulations on your graduation.”

He beams. “Thank you. And thank you for coming.” He nods to Regina. “And thank you for having her here, Regina.”

The brunette tosses her head. “One good turn,” she says agreeably. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to speak at your law school graduation.”

Emma looks back at him. “Nervous?”

“Do you think I should be?” he asks, the corners of his eyes creasing as he savors her dimpled smile.

She blushes prettily. “Not from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh?” He arcs an eyebrow mischievously and grins from ear-to-ear at his bosses. “I smell perjury.”

“Okay,” Regina interrupts flatly, rolling her eyes. “Perhaps you two can hold off flirting and making eyes until after the Kodak moments are past?”

“We’re not…” Emma’s protest dies on her lips with one look at Regina’s imperious expression. She clears her throat, though her smile fails to fade as she hastily preps her camera. “Right. Sorry.” She pops the lens cover off and glances behind her before backing up a few steps. “How about a few shots of the three of you together?”

The day passes like a dream for Killian, a whirlwind of exuberant celebration and congratulations and the repeated shaking of hands, highlighted by the constant underlying awareness that he’s being watched by Emma’s camera, and, more importantly, by Emma herself. As it was at the wedding, he tries to keep a bead on her without her noticing, but inevitably their eyes meet from time to time, and the open smile she wears for him, as though _she’s_ actually proud of him, makes him want to punch the air in victory. 

As one of the speakers, he’s afforded a seat on the stage with the rest of the faculty following the conferring of individual degrees, and from there he can see the horde of seated guests assembled behind the rows of his classmates. One ear on the proceedings, he combs the masses until he finds Emma’s gold head. Her bright face is buried behind her camera, and he smiles. He’s tempted to wink, knowing that she’ll see it through her lens, but a glance at Regina, who sits next to her, makes him think better of it, and he quickly adopts a look of reverent attention as he redirects his eyes toward the Dean.

When he’s introduced, he stands and takes the podium to applause and some raucous cheers from his classmates, and he chuckles low into the microphone. “Thank you, Dean Thompkins, for that very generous introduction.” The assembly falls silent, and for a second the enormity of the crowd strikes him. He folds his lips and takes a deep breath, glancing down at the typed words in front of him. “Thanks also to you and to this world-renowned faculty for putting up with me and the rest of this class – a lot so unruly that they chose me to speak at this event, partly because they thought it might be amusing and partly because I’m told my accent lends itself to officious occasions.” He smiles at the laughter that ripples through the audience. “Thanks also to our esteemed guests and to the family and friends that have come to help us celebrate this important day.” He looks at Robin and then gives an appreciative nod toward Regina and Emma. “And, of course, a hearty congratulations to you, my fellow graduates. Well done, mates.”

Killian licks his lips. “We all came here for different reasons, each with a different tale behind our decision to pursue a career in the law. Some of those stories are happy ones, rooted in tradition or ambition or optimism or selflessness. My own tale, however, is none of those. My decision to pursue a career in the law came out of personal tragedy, and while I won’t waste your time over-sharing or rehashing the details of that sad event, suffice it to say that when I entered law school, I did so with a heart full of bitterness and a hunger for vengeance.” Killian’s brow furrows, heavy with confession, and he finds himself looking nervously to Emma, who has lowered her camera and now listens intently. Her eyes are fixed on him, and though he can’t see into their depths at this distance, he can tell her face is curious and forlorn, and suddenly he feels like he’s speaking just to her. 

_My not-a-hero_ , she’d said. _Hers._ He knows he doesn’t have any right to read too much into her banter, but it isn’t just those words that fill him with hope. It’s the way she looks him – the warmth in her gaze when they talked at the wedding, the fondness in her expression when they greeted each other this morning, the way she’s looking at him now. She barely knows him, but despite his insistence that he isn’t a hero, she looks at him as though she knows he could be one, and it makes him want to believe it’s true. It makes him want to try.

He continues. “I came to this place driven by anger and wallowing in self-pity, but I have found that life sends you where you need to be, and while my purpose in coming was to gain the skills necessary to try to avenge my family, my time in law school has shown me a _bigger_ purpose – the pursuit of social justice at large. I have seen just how many opportunities there are to right the wrongs of this world beyond my own personal concerns. People wrongly imprisoned or punished with harsh sentences that do not befit their crimes. Members of certain races or faiths or socioeconomic groups who are targeted by unfair laws. Families separated by legal technicalities and red tape. Victims of domestic violence with few means of recourse. People who suffer human rights abuses who go unheard. Refugees who need asylum. Honest citizens bankrupted or endangered by corrupt people and organizations that see them only as a means to profits and power.” He swallows hard. 

“The world is full of pain. But I have seen in the last three years, in my experiences here and in the drive and compassion and intelligence of you, my colleagues and my mentors,” he turns and makes eye contact with Robin, “that there is good reason to hope for a better future. That there are lion hearts out there. That we can effect change. That we can find a way to slay the demons and try to right the wrongs. Law school has not only given me the tools with which to fight the good fight, but two things that are equally important – a family of bloody brilliant individuals who are similarly devoted to the cause of making the world a fairer place and the hope to keep chasing justice even when it seems elusive.” He can see Emma’s eyes shining now, and he answers her watery smile with one of his own. “And if there’s one thing I’m becoming more and more sure about, it’s that happy endings start with hope.”

 

* * *

 

Killian salutes with his tumbler as Robin and Regina, arms around one another, wave and head for the door of the pub. Perched atop a tall barstool, his elbows planted on the small table they were sharing, he levers his foot against the rung on the stool and bounces his knee when Emma leans over from the seat next to him.

“You know, for not-a-hero, you give a pretty rousing speech,” she says, her voice raised to compete with the cacophony of simultaneous celebrations happening all over bar.

He grins, his eyes dropping to his tumbler, relishing the fact that she’s near enough that he can detect the scent of her perfume. “What can I say? I learned from the best.” He gestures with his glass out the window at his bosses’ retreating profiles.

Emma chuckles and narrows her eyes a little. “Again with the modesty.”

“Who, me?” He laughs. “I’m a lawyer, remember, love? I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Her eyes glint as she considers him, swirling her own drink around in the glass beneath her nose. “Fine then. Prove it. Tell me some things about yourself that aren’t modest.”

Killian hums and straightens his back. “Oh, I love a challenge.” He swallows a mouthful of rum, enjoying the pleasant burn as it washes down his throat, and turns back to face her expectant gaze with a raised eyebrow. “I’m devilishly handsome.” His smile widens when she rolls her eyes but concedes the point with a nod. He begins tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip. “I’m ace at liar’s dice. I read 800 words per minute. I’m kind to children and animals. I’m always a gentleman. I’m quite good at making grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Emma laughs, and Killian marvels for the hundredth time at how alive the sound makes him feel. He tilts his head and looks her square in the eye, his face becoming more solemn. “And not a day’s gone by since we first met that I haven’t thought of you.”

Her eyebrows rise, and her lips part a little as she sits there and blinks at him in awe. “Really?” she breathes at last.

He nods somberly. “Aye.” 

There’s a pause, and then Emma moves, slowly closing the distance between them. His heart races and an expression of almost tearful rapture overwhelms his features when her lashes flutter downward. 

“Good.” She presses her mouth to his, soft and tentative at first, but he answers with a deep intake of breath and cups her jaw, and they come together as though drawn by gravity, lips parting and moving with one another like they were always made to do this. He allows his tongue to graze hers, and she responds aggressively in a way that makes him groan, the kiss growing deep and soulful, and it’s so full of longing and happiness that Killian feels as though his chest is going to burst with pure joy. 

He pants when Emma finally breaks away, pulling back just far enough to be able to gaze into his blue eyes with a shy smile while he thumbs the tiny cleft in her chin affectionately.

“I love grilled cheese,” she murmurs.

Killian chuckles, his fingers sliding forward to cradle the back of her head. “That,” he says, leaning in to seal his lips over hers again, “is excellent.”


End file.
